


As harmless as a pup

by Valpur



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Casual Sex, Explicit Consent, F/M, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Sexual Inexperience, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 11:20:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16094639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valpur/pseuds/Valpur
Summary: “So, Isabela. You captained a ship? That's a lot of men to handle”, he asked.No, no, bad Carver! Wrong and dangerous!He stubbornly refused to look at her, but he could feel her grin widen and her gaze turn sharp. His attempt at correcting his slip made it all worse. “For you to command”.Maybe it’s not as bad as I feared.He snorted and wiped his gloved hand on his chest, leaving the stain where it was.After a moment, Isabela laughed. Nothing loud, just a soft rumble in her voice, and Carver sharply turned to stare at her.“Well, aren’t you just adorable fumbling for a topic…”





	As harmless as a pup

_Once again, the Hawke brothers save the day._

It had been nothing special, just some bandits stalking in the hills by the Wounded coast. Still, a victory is a victory, and Carver felt pleasantly sore from the fight. They needed the money, and the company wasn’t even that bad, but Carver wouldn’t have admitted with anyone.

It was quiet now, far from the chaos of the battle. The seagulls were shrieking in the sky – a good sign, it meant no enemies in sight – and far down the path, Hawke’s voice told some tale Varric was finding particularly interesting, considering how often he intervened to ask questions in his rich voice.

And at his side, Isabela was whistling under her breath, flipping a dagger in her hand.

Carver blinked at her shapely silhouette, lined in copper with the last rays of the setting sun. She was… _something_ , and no matter how little he might trust her (or anyone, actually), Carver’s authority on his own body was not the steeliest. He tried not to stare, even when she was sitting across from him at the Hanged Man and her cheerful laughter shook her whole body. The entirety of it. Her breasts included.

Even now, they _bounced_. They had bounced during the fight too, even if Carver had been too busy trying not to get himself or anyone else killed.

Now the thought flashed in his brain, clear pictures of bright red splatters on dark, sweaty skin and the agile contraction of the long muscles on her thighs…

Well, Isabela was kind of shady, but she was ridiculously hot, too.

 _Not the only hot thing here_ , he thought, trying in vain to undo the strings closing his shirt. Sweat made the coarse fabric cling to his back, and his leather gloves made his efforts twice as clumsy.

The shirt was too tight on his shoulders. That was because he’d grown broader since they’d come to Kirkwall. Mercenary work and stuff.

His pants, too, felt uncomfortable, but he doubted he could impute this particular brand of tension on the battle alone.

The strings kept slipping from his fingers, and Carver grunted.

“Need a hand getting undressed, baby Carver?” Isabela asked with a chuckle.

“No thank you”, Carver snapped back. He felt Isabela’s eyes on him, and his already frustrating task became unbearable. He dropped his hand and turned his head to look at her. “You’re having fun, aren’t you?”

“Fun? _Me_?” She slid the dagger back in the sheath on her shoulder – and the gesture made her arch her back enough to highlight the curves of her body – and winked at him. “Not yet, unfortunately. Bet we could change that…”

Among the many things Carver couldn’t stand, Kirkwall’s weather held a steadily high position on the list. Like now – it had been windy and chill during the battle, but now Carver was drenched, and his face felt on fire.

Of _course_ it was the weather.

Isabela was still staring at him with a glimmer of amusement in her amber eyes. The pearl under her lip sparkled golden in the sunset, and her smile hid a world of unsaid things and bad ideas Carver wasn’t entirely sure he didn’t share. And so, to mask this budding embarrassment, he looked down and found a very convenient spot of dried blood on his glove, which he proceeded to scratch – a viable alternative to looking at Isabela and remember he was young, interested in her gender and quite unsatisfied with his level of physical activity. And not of the fighting type. That was alright.

The blood was still there.

Isabela’s eyes were, too.

And so was the strain in his pants.

 _Might as well try to find something to say_ , he considered bitterly, cursing for once the fact that his brother was not at his side. Hawke and Varric were far beyond the next turn on the road, probably already in sight of Kirkwall, so no help could’ve come from them.

_But I’m a Hawke myself. I don’t need to be saved!_

His head buzzed for a topic, and there was so much to inquire without venturing into inappropriate territory. Like, asking Isabela about one of her trips, or where she’d found the new blade protruding from behind her shoulders, or anything about her stay in Kirkwall.

But when words formed on his tongue, Carver realized they were not what he’d intended.

“So, Isabela. You captained a ship? That's a lot of men to handle”, he asked. _No, no, bad Carver! Wrong and dangerous!_ He stubbornly refused to look at her, but he could feel her grin widen and her gaze turn sharp. His attempt at correcting his slip made it all worse. “For you to command”.

 _Maybe it’s not as bad as I feared._ He snorted and wiped his gloved hand on his chest, leaving the stain where it was.

After a moment, Isabela laughed. Nothing loud, just a soft rumble in her voice, and Carver sharply turned to stare at her.

“Well, aren’t you just adorable fumbling for a topic…”

Her tone ignited a different kind of fire under Carver’s skin, one he knew all too well, having to live with such a furious dissatisfaction every given moment of his life. He clenched his fists and bared his teeth, hating how burning his cheeks felt – and knowing how bright the blush would be on his fair skin.

“You say that like I’m harmless”, he spat out, narrowing his eyes at Isabela in what he hoped could pass for an intimidating look.

They were somewhat slowing down their pace, and now Varric’s barking laughter was just a distant echo.

Isabela tilted her head to the side and placed her hands on her hips. Carver tried very hard to ignore their soft, promising curve, but there was little he could do against the genuine smile that stretched her full lips.

It was innocent. No, wait, that wasn’t the right term, Isabela wasn’t innocent at all and it was impossible not to admire how unapologetic about her life she was. But now she was curiously warm and sincere, and something else Carver couldn’t find a proper name for. That _something_ was new and almost scary.

He stopped with his back to the rocky hills and crossed his arms on his chest in a pathetic show of self-defense, and Isabela moved one step closer.

“As harmless as a pup that will someday grow into its fangs and sink them deep”, she purred, batting her lashes just once and filling the apparently casual gesture with too much significance for Carver’s own good.

Something cracked inside him.

He felt vulnerable, and he hated it. There was nothing to guard himself against, and he knew Isabela was a friend despite all her flaws, but his blood ran too fast and his throat felt awkwardly flushed.

He couldn’t stand making a fool of himself.

“Sure, keep teasing”, he snapped, taking one further step to close the gap between them. As fit and dangerous as Isabela was, she was a small woman, her head reaching not much above Carver’s shoulder. Being tall and stocky was one of the few perks of being a Hawke – he was even taller than his older brother, something he never failed to mention – and he was determined to make the most out of hit. He stared down at Isabela, who seemed too interested and not enough awed for his tastes. “I’ll show you how much of a pup I am”, he sneered in her face. Nervousness was making his head light and dizzy, and the throbbing in his pants was reaching an alarming level, one he could barely ignore anymore.

Frustration, of course. Nothing but frustration for being teased and mocked like a kid.

Isabela’s small dark hand crawled up his chest, and Carver gasped, backing away too quickly for his own already lacking self-esteem. Nothing that could dissuade Isabela from her merciless taunting.

She smiled more, now, and whatever impression of innocence Carver could’ve had was gone like a candle in a storm. Frozen, he stood powerless as Isabela’s finger tickled up his neck and under his chin. She leaned closer and he swallowed: maybe kissing her would’ve stopped this nonsense? Or better still, running away?

Nothing made sense anymore, and he couldn’t look away from her. Why was this happening? She just enjoyed teasing, but this felt more personal.

“I know”, she whispered, and she was close enough Carver could smell her – sweat and copper from the fight, with a hint of salt and spices. “That’s why I do it”.

And before he could do anything more refined than fumble with scraps of thoughts and shame, she was gone.

He blinked in the stretching shadows of the twilight and shook his head. Isabela was bouncing up the road and calling their friends’ name.

“Hey, you two! Drinks later?” she asked, and Varric peeked from behind the rocks.

Carver couldn’t hear what they were saying, and he felt like a total idiot, standing there in the middle of the dusty road, with his face bright red and a telling bulge in his pants. Hopefully Varric’s sight was not that good – a forlorn hope for a marksman.

Coughing his confusion away, Carver rubbed the back of his neck and hissed through his teeth.

Drinks later meant two things: a second round of embarrassment, but also enough of the Hanged Man’s rat flavored whisky to knock him unconscious and save the rest of the gang’s jokes.

He vehemently hoped for another gang of bandits to save him from the evening.

 

 °°°

 

It was the same after every mission. Whether it was scouting the coast for Tal-Vashoth outlaws or agreeing to help suspicious guys from Hightown clear a mine at the Bone Pit, they always met back at the Hanged Man to drink half decent beer (courtesy of Varric’s high status in the tavern) and silently thank whatever gods each of them believed in for being still alive.

Isabela would never admit it with anyone – a girl needed to guard her own good reputation of ruthless, light-hearted pirate – but she loved this kind of nights.

The Hanged Man wasn’t less shabby and her friends none the cleaner, but they were there, and even if it made her secret guilt heavier, she was good at ignoring it and enjoy the company. Here, she could forget life for a golden moment, and just be happy to be alive.

Leaning back in her chair, with her ankles casually crossed on the table, Isabela knew she was being watched. Not by Merrill, even if the girl sat at her side and often poked at her to ask about this or that dirty joke she couldn’t understand (and Isabela gladly filled in the gaps for her), and not exactly by Sebastian, whose stern, disapproving gaze insisted on her too often. Hawke was deep into a conversation with Anders, and the two were oblivious of the rest of the room, sitting too close to be casual; maybe one day they would’ve realized they needed to bang. Fenris, too, was too busy to mind her: around him there were already two empty bottles, and the third was swaying in his clawed fist. Best drinker at the table, no doubt.  
As for Varric, he had Aveline at his throat again for whatever borderline illegal demeanor he was carrying out.

But Isabela knew who was watching her: a pair of deep blue, angry eyes was scanning her, and she loved the attention.

Carver Hawke was young, stubborn and frustrated. And also cute in a way he wasn’t aware of, always sulking about being in his more flamboyant brother’s shadow. Oh, sure, Garrett Hawke was a hottie himself, but she found Carver’s anger ridiculously attractive. Even more so now, after a rough day on the battlefield – eluding death made her appreciate life even more. Especially the most naked, slippery and moaning parts of it. 

And Carver was a damn good candidate for it, with his striking jawline, those stormy blue eyes and ridiculously broad shoulders: how could Faith have ignored his attention for so long?

_If being clumsy is a problem, he can be trained._

She stretched and rolled her shoulders with a yawn, and the movement didn’t go unnoticed. When her feet slipped from the table and the chair landed on the floor with a bang, Carver made a great show of looking away.

He wasn’t very good at it, she considered, swiping her finger on the brim of her tankard to collect a residue of frothy foam: when she licked her fingertip, Carver gulped and pressed his lips in a furious line.

“What’s wrong with you, puppy?” she asked in a casual tone. Carver was sitting at her side, so her soft words didn’t raise any questions.

“You’re doing it on purpose!” he snarled under his breath. Veins and tendons bulged on his thick forearm as he clenched his fists under the table, and Isabela marveled at herself when a small wave of heat flushed her face.

_How long until you realize that with the right attitude you could have any girl or guy on their knees for you, little one?_

She perched her chin on her fist and leaned closer.

“I beg you pardon?”

“You’re… that thing you did, it’s…” He made a confused gesture, pointing vaguely at Isabela’s hands, face and cleavage. Maybe a little too much the latter. “Why do you always have to be that _suggestive_?”

He sounded exhausted. No, better still: defeated. She almost felt sorry for him, but she was having too much fun to stop, and her expectations were growing.

“Am I suggesting anything? Or are _you_?” She tapped two fingers on her cheek and casually worried her lip. “If that’s the case, you should be a little more explicit…”

“I’m not… going to be explicit!” Carver was nearly shaking with tension. Of the gang, only Varric noticed it, cocking an eyebrow and momentarily taking his attention from Aveline with a grin.

But of course, Varric always noticed everything.

Well, Isabela wasn’t subtle. Never been, and she’d been through enough to earn her right to her own body and pleasure.

“Pity”, she pouted. “I was hoping you would… but nevermind. I guess I’ll go to bed. _Alone_ ”. With a theatrical sigh she pushed her chair back and stood up. Carver was gaping, and he gaped some more when she stooped to look him in the eye. Predictably enough, his gaze moved a little further south. “Unless you change your mind. No strings attached”.

She could’ve kissed the tip of his nose just to see him blush and roar that he was no boy to be played with, but she was fond of Carver enough to spare him the humiliation, so she just waved the gang goodbye and walked away.

“Is she leaving already? It must have been a really difficult fight!” She heard Merrill say, and Fenris choked on his drink.

Isabela smiled to herself as she slowly walked the corridor to her room.

“Oh, I don’t think she’s that tired, Daisy. I guess someone should go make sure she’s alright…”

“But Isabela is perfectly capable of taking care of herself, she’s…”

“I hate you all _so much_!”

Isabela stopped in front of her door and bit down on her fist not to laugh out loud. She could picture Carver’s flustered face, but she didn’t need imagination much longer, because the wooden planks creaked with heavy footsteps.

She leaned back against the door and arched her eyebrows.

“There you are, puppy. What is…”

Carver stormed the corridor and reached her in the blink of an eye, wiggling his index finger under her nose.

“Stop calling me puppy, I warn you!”

“Or else?”

“I will… er…”

The crack in his façade was so evident Isabela had a second thought. Was she insisting too much? Sure, teasing was her favorite hobby, but Carver was young and naïve, and she cared about him. She didn’t want to lose his friendship or to hurt him.

She sighed and shook her head.

“Alright, Carver, keep this between us, but I’m sorry if I went too far. Merrill’s right, I can take care of myself in more ways than you can think of, so if you’re not in the mood it’s alright. I’d never force you to…”

“No! Well, you… I really wouldn’t say that I don’t want to… I mean… I _want_ to… I mean…”

Relief settled in her belly and she barely held back a smile.

“You _mean_. What about you _moan_?”

Oh, she liked the game. And after all she wasn’t really that tired…

“You’re terrible”, Carver croaked, moving into her space. He was so close Isabela could feel the heat radiating from his body, and even see the small beads of sweat on his forehead.

And he did nothing, just stood there with his hands down his sides, as if he didn’t know what to do with them.

_I suppose you need some encouragement, my boy. And I know exactly what to do about it._

“And you like it, _puppy_ ”.

Carver was towering above her. Had she just moved her hips forward she would’ve discovered at last if that broadsword was, as she thought, counterbalance and not overcompensation.

“I said don’t call me…”

She closed his mouth with her fingertips and stood up against him, a small gesture that had Carver catch his breath and stiffen (hopefully in the right places).

“You mentioned something this afternoon. About showing me how much of a pup you are. What about you showed me indeed, instead of…”

She couldn’t finish her sentence. A calloused hand grabbed her jaw, and in the bat of an eye she found herself with her back against the door, with Carver’s large mouth crushing her own.

Inexperienced, she’d called him in her head, and such he was. Clumsy and eager, unrefined, and she could’ve asked for anything better. Carver pushed her back against the door and slammed his fist on the planks by her face, and Isabela gladly opened her mouth and lapped at the seam of his lips.

Carver let out a tiny, strangled noise and kissed her back, and Isabela closed her eyes and tilted her head back to let their tongues have a better angle. He tasted of the beer he’d been drinking, and his skin was soft against her own, with just a hint of stubble down his cheeks. It tickled her palms when she cupped his face and pulled him in for a deeper kiss, dragging a much welcome moan from the depths of his throat.

Well, he wasn’t bad at all that kissing business, she thought as she raked her fingernails down the vast plains of Carver’s chest. When she lightly brushed his nipples, he let out a tiny gasp, and such a small sound went straight to her head.

With her hands full of hard, heavy muscles – the boy was stocky, but she could’ve told that by the way his arms bulged from the ripped sleeves – she took it up a notch and rocked her hips once, tentatively.

And this time it was her turn to gasp.

A plethora of stale ‘is that a battleaxe in your pants or are you just happy to see me’ jokes bounced through her head. Whatever was pressing against her thigh – and her grasp of male anatomy was more than enough to confirm that it was exactly what she hoped it was – was thick enough to surprise even someone not new to the commodity at all.

Her knees went weak while a throbbing flame spread from between her legs to her lower belly, burning brighter when Carver’s hands glided down her waist in a shaky caress and eagerly grabbed her sides. She could feel the uncertainty as he tried to be inconspicuous, gingerly moving his fingers to slid them under her blouse.

This needed a direct intervention. Isabela grabbed his wrists and brusquely placed his hands on her ass.

“Better”, she whispered, shutting his stuttered apology with a kiss. After a moment Carver relaxed; Isabela could feel the tension melt from the thick wrists she was still holding, and his fingers grabbing her with more intention.

When he started to rub against her, letting her feel his whole, rather impressive length, she had to break from the kiss. It wasn’t as easy as she’d imagined – and why was she enjoying it all so much? He was little more than a kid, and she’d had probably better, but… well, Carver Hawke was interesting, let’s say that.

“I suppose you’re not into letting our friends catch us here”, she breathed out. She opened her eyes, and Maker, was it worth it. Carver was a bright shade of pink, his lips were soft and shiny, his eyes a blue so deep it looked almost purple under the flickering lights of the torches.

“N-No, better not”, he panted, leaning his forehead against hers. He was sweaty, and his usually neatly combed hair was already tousled. It made him look even cuter, and Isabela kissed him quickly on the lips.

Isabela caressed his arms and twisted in his embrace to get a hold on the handle behind her.

“What a coincidence, my room’s right here. Would you like to come in for a cup of tea or something stronger?”

Carver grunted and grabbed her butt harder, lifting her against him.

“You can stop joking around, you know?”

“And miss all the fun? Never!” She chuckled, pushing the door with her elbow and stumbling inside. Carver wrapped his arms around her waist and picked her up as if she weighted nothing, squirming a bit to kick the door shut with his boot.

In the sudden darkness, Isabela directed Carver toward the bed, and then things went downhill pretty fast.

On the good side, they found it. Still a better option than crashing on the floor or smashing the night table.

On the bad side, Carver hit the mattress with his knees and lost his grip on Isabela, unceremoniously dropping her on the bed and collapsing on top of her. The bed slats creaked, and Isabela moaned loudly for the wrong reason when almost two hundred pounds of Hawke junior squished her on the mattress.

“Sorry! Shit, are you alright? I’m so sorry, did I hurt you?”

“No, I’m fine”, she grunted, slapping his shoulder. “But move, I can’t breathe!”

“Oh. Right”, he said, and Isabela could feel the burn of his flushing skin as if it were the heat from a bonfire. Carver quickly rolled to his side and Isabela took a deep breath.

For a brief moment, the only sound in the room was Isabela’s fumbling for the bedside lamp. Once or twice a sparkle burst in the darkness, but to no avail.

“I ruined everything, didn’t I? I always do it”, Carver muttered from behind her.

“Oh, stop it, big boy. Tumbling in bed is not a bad thing at all, you know?” Almost there. Another spark, and this time it lasted a little longer.

“But I made a fool of myself. Maybe I should go back and…”

The lamp flashed a warm golden light, and Isabela put it back on the night table with a smile.

“If that’s what you want, I won’t stop you”, she said, sitting cross-legged on the bed. “Otherwise, you didn’t ruin anything. It was fun – and sex must be fun, or what’s the point?”

Carver was on his back, his hands clenched on his stomach and his long legs dangling from the bed. He was staring at the ceiling, and Isabela thought that the two Hawkes shared the same strong bone structure and black hair, but Carver still had something juvenile about him that Garrett lacked. Maybe it was the beard.

“What if… I don’t want to leave?” he asked softly, slowly turning his face to look at Isabela, whose heart melted a bit.

“I’d be a very bad friend if I kicked you out right now, and no, I don’t want you to leave either”. A strand of hair had slipped from the scarf around her head and she tucked it behind her ear before leaning down until her nose and Carver’s were touching.

“Are you alright?”

“I… think so”, he said in a whisper, brushing his fingertips up Isabela’s arms and creating a wave of goosebumps.

Then it struck her.

“Carver, are you a… I mean, would this be your first t- “

“ _No!_ ” he said, sitting up so abruptly he almost knocked their heads together. The tip of his ears was a dark, angry red. “No, I – er – I’ve had others and… well, not many. Alright, alright, stop looking at me like that, just _two_ , and the first was a disaster, but I know how it works, so don’t laugh at me or…”

Isabela took his face – yes, it burned as she’d imagined – and squeezed his cheeks.

“I won’t laugh”, she said, deadly serious. “I only want to spend a pleasant night with you. You’re a good guy, a good friend, and deserve to enjoy our time together. What you don’t know you’ll learn, we’ve all been there, and…”

“I bet you weren’t a virgin at nineteen”, he said a bit plaintively. Something hardened in Isabela’s soul, and she hoped it wouldn’t show.

“There’s worse things than that, trust me”. And since that serious conversation was killing the mood indeed, she sighed and pinched Carver’s cheeks with a playful grin. “Well isn’t that the cutest pout ever!”

“You saw me fight, you shouldn’t consider me cute!”

“But you are”, and she pulled him in for a new kiss. A calmer one this time, and Isabela took the time to explore Carver’s mouth, brushing their lips together and running her fingers through his hair. His hands were gentler now, cradling her and pulling her in his arms.  
She went gladly, shivering with pleasant anticipation when Carver bit her lower lip and kissed his way down her throat.

Eventually, when her neck started to protest from the strain, she opted for a more practical position and she straddled Carver’s hips with a fluid movement.

When she settled in his lap, Carver let out a loud gasp and stiffened minutely.

 _Damn, he’s really cute,_ Isabela thought before starting to rock back and forth, savoring the beginning of a tingle between her legs, where Carver’s erection pulsated against her.

With her hands on his shoulders, he peeked at him from behind the shock of hair falling in front of her eyes.

Again, Carver didn’t seem to be able to stand her gaze, mesmerized by the bounce of her breasts.

That weird mixture of arousal and tenderness was heady, and she enjoyed every drop of it. She kissed him again, sucking at his lip until his tongue darted out to meet hers. And while they were drowning in the kiss, while Carver started to react to her movements pushing his hips upward with promising abandonment, Isabela wiggle out of her tunic. It was a simple garment, and it slipped off her shoulders with no effort, leaving her in her underwear, boots and jewels alone.

Among panting breaths, Carver kissed her neck and shoulders, and it felt like he didn’t know what to do with his hands, so once more Isabela guided them on her body, until the large, rough palms were cupping her breasts.

“You can touch, you know?” she murmured in his ear, and Carver shivered beneath her. His breath was coming out in harsh, broken gasps, and when Isabela looked at him again she saw a new light in his eyes – all that frustration hid a flame of lust she hadn’t expected, and her heart thumped against her ribs with need and desire.

Something had given in inside Carver, because when he sunk his fingers in her hair and pulled her head back to bare her chest and throat, Isabela’s eyes widened with surprise. And then with something more interesting and explicit than surprise the moment Carver’s tongue painted a wet stripe down her chest and insisted on her nipple.

“You… apparently, you know a thing or two”, she gasped when his teeth closed on the stiffening bud and he sucked gently.

She’d expected to be entirely on top, but she liked this turn of the events. She kept on moving on top of him, and the warm friction was turning wet – his fault of hers, it was hard to say. Probably both.

And she liked it, way more than she was ready to admit. An exhilarating sensation that made her head light and clenched her muscles in a nice prelude to the pressure she was expecting.

But Carver was liking it too much. His movements were growing erratic already, his hands unsteady, and Isabela had to emerge from the cozy place of her own pleasure to stop him.

“That good?” she asked, and Carver trembled against her. “Hey, darling, what about we slow things down a little?”

Carver stopped abruptly and stared at her wide-eyed.

“Did I do a-anything wr…”

“Not a thing”, she interrupted him, sitting back on her heels and sliding from him. Even if he was still entirely dressed, the shape of his cock tenting his pants was unmistakable. She licked her lips and playfully kicked his side. “You’re a little overdressed for the occasion, but I think we can improve that”.

“I don’t understand…”

Isabela stopped short of rolling her eyes.

“Carver, why don’t you strip for me? It will make the whole process easier”.

“Oh! Right!” if possible, Carver’s ears were glowing even redder. He rolled off the bed and turned his back to Isabela, who smiled with patient tenderness at how shy he was. She settled comfortably on the pillow and enjoyed the show: after a couple of muttered curses as he tried to take his boots off without falling face first on the floor, Carver slid his shirt off his shoulder, gracing Isabela with a clear vision of a broad, muscular back.

 _I like where this is going,_ she said to herself, biting her lip in anticipation. There was nothing out of place in Carver Hawke, from the muscles tensing on his shoulders as he shrugged his shirt off, to the pale, firm ass slowly peeking from the leather of the pants he was rolling down his hips. Buckles and belts fell clinking around his feet, and he looked over his shoulder with a strangely vulnerable look in his eyes. It made him look even younger, and Isabela felt the unexpected urge to hold him.

But then his features hardened, as if he was trying to find the determination to move, and Carver turned around.

Isabela couldn’t remember the last time a man’s endowment had left her speechless, and surely she hadn’t expected Carver Hawke to make it to the list. And yet here she was, with her eyebrows hiking their way up her forehead and her jaw slowly dropping.

Alright, this wasn’t fair. Carver was ripped, and this came as no surprise, considering the life they lived. She’d expected the six pack and the carved chest, less so the mabari on his left pectoral – the tattoo covered the smooth skin from his collarbone down to his nipple, an elaborate design inked in blue and quivering with every movement of his owner.

Her gaze glided down the ripped expanse of his stomach and followed the dark trail under his navel.

He was bigger than she’d thought, and she’d been impatient to explore him even before seeing what was hiding under all those layers of fabric and leather. Big and ready, Carver’s cock arched up almost to his navel, flushed against the white skin.

A small cough roused her from her trance. Her expression must have betrayed her, because Carver was looking at her with his head low and a spark of amusement in his eyes.

“So?”

“That’s… really impressive”. She blinked in awe without taking her eyes off Carver’s erection. “The tattoo is pretty nice, too”.

To this, Carver chuckled softly.

“What now? It’s getting a bit chill here…”

“I… wouldn’t say so”, she hissed before shaking her head and moving back on the bed. “Come on, what are you waiting for?”

There was no trace of her usual mischief in her voice, just bare desire bred on hours of teasing. Carver nodded, and the lightness on his face faded to make room for an intense look of confused desire.

Isabela patted the mattress at her side, but Carver had moved already. Crawling on top of her, warm and smooth, he stared at her with unfocused, shiny eyes.

“Just relax”, she said. “Take your time, and don’t worry if things don’t go as planned: there’s plenty of ways to enjoy ourselves”.

“I know the basics”, he replied. Isabela let him find his place between her legs, and when the slippery, hot head brushed against her she shivered and tried to urge him in – but no, Carver wasn’t having any of that.

He just hovered on her, tracing her body with a light, unsteady hand. A needy squeeze of her breast, hardened fingers pinching her nipple and making her wince and swallow a moan, and then up again in a slow caress on her cheek.

She blinked in the dim light and frowned. He didn’t seem uneasy despite his shyness, but somehow she wondered if she’d better investigate the concept of ‘consent’ a little more. She opened her mouth to speak, but produced no sound, because Carver traced her lower lip with his thumb, and in a second she found herself sucking his fingers with a grin.

_Just the basics, you say? You’re a surprise, puppy…_

She relaxed against the pillows and closed her eyes. The fingers were gone, replaced by Carver’s lips and tongue. And while the kiss was very, very nice, the wet touch that explored her deep down made her gasp lightly on Carver’s mouth.

It took him a moment – a very pleasant, if a bit chaotic, moment – to map the territory, but eventually his index and middle fingers sunk slowly in, and Isabela let out a long sigh of pleasure. Slippery and ready as she was, she felt her flesh swell and throb under Carver’s thrusts. Slow and tentative at first, then harder and more frantic. Their kiss became a mutual panting, lips barely touching and tongues searching for each other. Carver’s fingers were thick and strong, and when his thumb, after some fumbling, found just the right spot hidden in her folds Isabela moaned loud and arched her back.

Carver stopped immediately.

“Did I hurt you? Sorry, I…”

Frustrated, she grabbed a fistful of his dark hair and pulled, tilting his head back.

“No. But don’t stop. Please”.

Carver bared his teeth in a lovely ferocious expression and grinned, resuming his attentions. Once he’d found his pace, Isabela only needed to lay there and let him play her like a musical instrument. And oh, it was working wonderfully, because she found herself silently begging for more with open tilts of her hips and whispers in Carver’s ear.

Still, she felt sort of selfish in just receiving without giving. That was part of the fun, after all. She slid her arms from around Carver’s back and squeezed a hand between them until she reached his cock, bouncing against her thigh.

And again, Carver gasped and pulled back.

“Easy”, he whispered.

“What – oh. Nails, right? I scratched you. I’ll be more careful”, and she ran her fingertips on the warm beads of fluid on the head of his cock, smearing and making him squeeze his eyes and murmur something that sounded like a curse or a prayer.

“No, it’s… you can’t expect me to last very long if you…”

“Listen, it probably shouldn’t be so hot, but I can’t wait to see your face when you come, so stop worrying, alright?”

Her words, more earnest than she liked to show, twisted Carver’s face from barely controlled need to blank contemplation to absolute lust.

“You’re a brat”, he growled. He grabbed her knees and spread her legs further apart, making her giggle.

“Look who’s talking”. She crossed her arms behind her head and stuck out her tongue.

Her playful pretense didn’t last long, because she was slick and greedy when Carver pushed against her. She sharply breathed in when, serious and focused, he breached in, and the sensation of being stretched and full and yet still needy made her muscles clench lightly.

“Maker’s balls, it's hot in here…” Carver hissed, frowning and pressing his forehead to Isabela’s. A droplet of sweat ran down his nose.

She had volumes of further dirty jokes for the occasion, but right now she wasn’t inclined to wasting her breath in cheap irony.

For a small eternity they stood still. Carver was shaking on his tensed arms, his breath coming out forcibly controlled, his eyes squeezed shut.

“You’re doing great”. She didn’t mean to say it, but the thought rolled on her tongue and formed in a gentle whisper.

Carver squinted at her, and his face looked briefly sweet.

“Am I?”

Isabela smiled some more and cradled him in his arms.

“Yup. Just… keep going, and don’t worry”.

After that, there was little room for small talk. Carver was careful. Ridiculously so, probably more for his sake than hers. Slow and deliberate, he slid in until it was almost too much to bear, and then out, the perfect picture of self-control.

Isabela kind of wanted to tell him to let go and unleash whatever frustration he was holding back, but she knew he wouldn’t have thanked her for that. He deserved to find his rhythm and be at ease.

And on the other hand, as excruciatingly slow and deliberate as he was, Carver was really doing his job. In a matter of seconds she was panting heavily, tethering on the edge of a precipice she knew how to capture but still too far to swallow her. It was unnerving, and she liked it.

Behind her closed eyes the world was darkness and splotches of colors, and Carver was heavy on top of her. She vas vaguely conscious of his lips brushing her throat, of his hands groping and touching uncoordinatedly, and it was more than alright: pleasure was building up, all she needed was to concentrate and let the tide catch up with her.

Slick sounds, flesh on flesh and breathy names called in the shadows filled the room, drowning out the buzz from the tavern and the lives of those who drank their miseries away.

She perched herself to his arms, hard and tensing on each side of her head, and her hips shop upwards, meeting every thrust with enthusiastic groans and thoroughly loving how into it Carver looked.

Until he stopped _again_ and slipped out, shaking his head.

Before she could ask him what the problem was, he wiped sweat from his brow with his forearm.

“Too soon. I’d rather not… become famous as the fastest swordsman in Kirkwall”, he stuttered, sitting back on his haunches with a shrug.

“Oh. Fine, if you want to…”

“And by that I mean”, he interrupted her, grabbing her calves and pulling her forward with a smirk, “that I don’t get to… you know, ladies first”.

“Ladies fi- _Carver_!” she yelped when he buried his face in groin.

It was messy. He clearly had a theoretical knowledge of how to eat her out, but he was so determined to do his part that he eventually got a grip on it. Isabela chuckled at his first clumsy efforts, but when his tongue found the right path, when his lips – swollen with kiss and blind desire – pressed and sucked, she stopped laughing altogether.

“Wow”, she breathed out when Carver’s fingers joined the party, dipping deep. To her quiet exclamation, Carver looked up from his quest and their eyes locked for a moment. He was smiling – not a grin or a sneer, a genuine smile, even if all Isabela could see were his eyes, crinkling at the corners with satisfaction. She wanted to encourage him some more, but damn, was he good…

She resolved just to let him have his way. She was fine with it.

There. Right _there_ , where the tip of his tongue was drawing small circles, slow and delicate in stark contrast with the assault of his hand. Isabela grabbed the pillow behind her head and arched up, kicking at the sheets – but Carver wasn’t letting her go.

Blood pumped wildly in her head and everything faded to black. The dim lamp, the noise around them, her own voice breaking into needy sounds. The tingling started in her toes and clawed at her ankles and up to her thighs, to the point that she started to lose coordination and her legs twitched around Carver’s temples. The air filling her lungs burned with every long and labored breath, until each time her ribcage expanded she could see colored dots dance in the darkness of her closed eyes. The bubble in her lower belly expanded and shrunk, and then inflated again almost to a breaking point.

Light was there, light and relief just out of her reach. But with Carver drinking her in, his fingers scissoring inside her it was just a matter of seconds before…

Everything changed at once. Midway through a gasp, a mere thought from her climax, Isabela sobbed when the slick pressure of Carver’s tongue disappeared – briefly, luckily for her. For them both.

Carver rode the wave of her arousal and didn’t miss the mark: he slithered in, leaving her no time to complain or to wind down from the intro to her own grand finale.

The sudden pressure and savage thrusts wiped away all her will to play and left her grasping at Carver’s back, her nails digging into his skin, her voice rising louder with every slam of their hips.

The bubble was still there, growing until it seemed it could crush her lungs and deprived her of air and wits. She felt her muscles clench around Carver’s cock as if from a great distance, faraway drums rolling in her chest, in her head, faster and faster until the bubble popped and the tension building in her body broke.

She squirmed and cried out loud, oblivious of how not soundproof her door was or how near they were to Varric’s quarters. Gasping for air, she subsided into a sparkling darkness, alive and thumping like her own heart.

She came back to her senses to enjoy the roar erupting from Carver’s throat. His orgasm face didn’t disappoint and was the perfect conclusion to a really nice trip: ruffled hair sticking to his forehead, pupils blown so wide they almost erased the blue of his iris, a look of utter wonder in his eyes as he came inside her.

Carver looked at her, panting and shaking wildly, even more than after a fight for his life – and Maker knew they’d had way too many of those.

Isabela relaxed on the mattress and looked at him through half-lidded eyes. Carver didn’t seem interested in moving from his – frankly quite uncomfortable – position, so she ran her finger on his cheekbone and jawline.

“Andraste’s flaming tits, Carver, that was… damn! That was remarkable, all of it!”

“Was… was it?” Carver muttered without moving. He was sweating on her, but that was not a big problem at this point.

“What makes you think it wasn’t? Ugh, for fuck’s sake, puppy, get off me and relax. You won this battle, too”.

Carver sniffed and rolled on his side with a loud bouncing of the mattress.

“I thought so, but you made some strangled noise and I thought I was kind of killing you?”

“That’s why they call it ‘small death’”. She stretched blissfully and perched herself on her elbow to lean closer and kiss the tip of Carver’s nose. “I liked it a lot”.

“Oh, so that was… _oh!”_ He blushed some more, and the young and naïve air was back on his face.

“That was exactly a ‘oh’, if you want to call it that”, and then it struck her.

 _So it_ was _somewhat a first time for him…_

This made it probably the sweetest, most meaningful one-night stand of her whole life. She was glad she got to share it with a friend. Another kiss, light as a feather on his lips.

“Thank you”, she added, and Carver’s eyebrows arched in astonishment.

“No, thank _you_! It was great, and… and you enjoyed it, that’s the best part of it, I… woah. Thank you, Isabela…”

They stood like this for a moment. It was not late enough to hope the Hanged Men would be empty, and in the quiet of the room, they could hear Hawke laugh in the distance.

Carver sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. Isabela watched him clean himself with some water from the pitcher by the bed, and then his shoulders sagged as he shook his head.

“Hey, big boy, are you alright?” she asked, touching his back – in part because she wanted his attention, but mostly because it was such a beautiful back she wanted one more taste of it. There were long red lines from his shoulders to his waist, and Isabela grinned. It had been _really_ good.

Carver shrugged and extended his arm to reach for his pants.

“Nothing, it’s just that they won’t let me get away with this”, and he gestured to the unmade bed. He stood up, gracing Isabela with another full panoramic of his fit body. A wide red blush was still spreading on his throat and chest, but he looked more comfortable now. “I can already hear the jokes, and Aveline will frown, Hawke will threaten me to tell mother about it and…”

“Stay, then”, she blurted out. “For tonight”. She was still naked, and her scarf was a blue tangle on the pillow. She hadn’t even realized she’d lost it. Sated as she was, she wasn’t that eager to see the end of this night, so she winked at Carver. “To avoid any commentary until tomorrow morning, and maybe for a round two. If you’re up to the task…”

Carver Hawke was young, a skilled fighter at the top of his physical strength. A small twitch under his still unfastened pants confirmed that yes, he was going to be ready for a reprise very, very soon.

“Can I?” he asked, and when Isabela nodded his whole face brightened up like the rising sun. He didn’t smile often, sulky and broody as he was, but when he did it made his eyes sparkle and his teeth flash white among his pink lips, and a dimple appeared on his left cheek.

It happened now, and Isabela mentally patted herself on the back for her choice of words. He was adorable.

Carver jumped out of his pants and threw himself on the bed again, making Isabela jump and squeal in delight.

A long night awaited them, but a lovely one.

 

 °°°

 

Hawke had a soft spot for successful missions. They made for the best introduction to lazy nights around a table or, if they were too distant or too tired to travel back home, around a bonfire.

He knew Varric disapproved them being in the open, but the dwarf hated even the gentlest of slopes, loathed wildlife, green things – bushes or dragons alike – mud and dust. Now he was on his back at the corner of their makeshift camp, with his bare feet perched high on his backpack and a muttered list of profanities on his lips. A very colorful list at that, because Varric was very creative with words, and swear ones were his favorite.

Isabela was warming her hands by the fire. Unlike Varric, she had an affinity for wind and shores, and while she disliked damp caves as everyone else, their latest trip had been a sort of get together with an old friend. The dalish assassin – probably the least dalish looking elf Hawke had ever seen, and he lived two blocks from Fenris – had proved to be a decent fellow, and him being on the flirty side of good manners had made Hawke laugh and Isabela roll her eyes.

Still, they’d chosen to help Zevran, and he was happy with their decision. The guy didn’t deserve to die, and Hawke preferred not to put any more weight on his conscience. Right now, the only weight he got to enjoy was that of Anders’ head resting in his lap. In the dancing light of the fire, the mage’s hair sparkled like molten gold, and the gaze he raised on Hawke’s face was the sweetest reward ever.

Mother was gone, Carver was far away, but he still had a family.

 _Getting emotional there, old man._ He chuckled to himself, banishing sad memories with the gift of a present full of friends and love, and stooped to kiss Anders.

“Aw, aren’t you two just the cutest thing ever”, Isabela cooed, rubbing her hands together among the sparks.

Hawke felt Anders smile against his lips and dismissed her commentary with a flick of his hand.

“Why does nobody ever tell me I’m cute?” Varric moaned from his bedroll.

“You’re manly, witty and charming. Leave something for the rest of us!” she said, and Varric grunted.

“I’ll give you that, Rivaini: Blondie _is_ cute. Hawke, though? Not so much…”

“Heard that, love? Even Varric thinks I’m cute”, Anders chuckled. It was unusual to have him in such a light mood, and Hawke followed his lead.

“You are, and something else”, he added, playfully nibbling at his earlobe. Anders squirmed and giggled, and Isabela grinned.

“See? You two’ve been together for what, five years now? And you’re still disgustingly adorable”.

Well, she was right. Hawke was head over heels as the first day together, and Anders was the best thing that could’ve happened to him. But letting Isabela tease with no counterattack? That was unworthy of him!

“You know who else is cute? The elf”, he said.

“Fenris? Good thing you got yourself a healer as a boyfriend, because he’d rip your heart out of your chest for that. Literally”, Varric said from his corner.

“No, not Fenris – I mean, I guess he is? But that’s not the point”. Hawke twisted a lock of Anders’ hair around his finger and squinted at Isabela. “Zevran. You and him were… mhm?”

“What? Oh, yes, we had sex. Several times. Now he’s sort of married and madly loyal, but back then he had his perks. Anders, too…”

“Please, not the electricity trick again”, Anders mumbled, covering his eyes with his hands. Hawke laughed and toed at one of the logs to reignite the flames.

“That’s one nice trick, I’ll give you that”.

“Hawke! Please, my dignity!” Anders got up from Hawke’s lap and shot him a mockingly stern look.

“Alright, let’s shake Isabela’s instead”. He took Anders’ hand and winked at her, making her laugh out loud.

“Oh, Hawke, dignity is so overrated! But please, ask away!”

A rustling of paper came from Varric’s position, but when Hawke checked his friend he found him casually sitting cross legs with a very not believable air of innocence.

“Don’t mind me, please. Go on”.

Hawke cleared his throat and grinned at Isabela.

“You said you’ve had better than him, but Zevran seemed quite confident in his skills”.

“He’s not half bad”, Isabela replied with nonchalance. “He loves to be ordered around, even if he pretends it’s the other way around, and he’s too much into foreplay sometimes. A girl may want to get to the main course every now and then, you know”.

Scratching of quill on parchment. Hawke squinted at Varric, who promptly hid a scroll behind his back and smiled like the absolute innocent angel he was.

“Sorry. Can’t help it – a writer’s curse…”

“Anyway yes, I’ve had better in the last – oh, let’s say five, six years or so…”

“Wait, you’ve been with us in the last years”, Anders asked, frowning in an inquisitive manner.

“It’s someone we know!” Hawke barked, pointing at her. “So, let’s see… is it Cinnamon, that girl at the Blooming rose?”

“Look, if we’re to go through all the flings I’ve had since I arrived to Kirkwall it’s going to be a long…”

“Fenris! I bet it’s Fenris, I knew that sword had to mean something!”

Isabela sighed and shook her head.

“Hawke, I’m not sure you’re ready for the truth”.

“I didn’t sleep with you, so it can’t be me. Anders?”

“Nope. Not in the last decade, at least”.

“Varric?”

Scribbling sounds. Hawke snorted and ignored him.

“It’s not Sebastian – I hope it’s not him, ugh – and I don’t think Merrill would…”

“it’s Carver”.

The scribbling stopped. Hawke’s mouth hanged open. Anders’s cheeks puffed with silent laughter.

“What… do we know another Carver? I thought my brother was the…”

“Yeah, _that_ Carver. Hawke junior. Your little brother”, she said with a smirk. Varric roused entirely from his fatigue and crawled to the fire.

“Tell me more. That night at the Hanged Man, right?”

“Exactly. And if the Hawkes all share the same _size,_ then you’re a lucky man, Anders…”

“Wait! No, stop! It’s my little brother you’re talking about! He _can’t_ be that good, can he?”

Anders’ lips trembled with hilarity.

“Let’s just say that yeah, I’m a lucky man”, he said, patting Hawke’s forearm.

“And what did he do? Spare no details, Rivaini”. Varric looked as awake as ever, with half a sheet of parchment already covered in his elegant writing.

“Isabela, for _real_?” Hawke couldn’t believe it. Carver? His own Carver? The headstrong, whining, baby faced brother now being a hero with the Wardens?

“Well, it all started after that raid on the Wounded Coast. He was frustrated, and so…”

Hawke didn’t say a single word for the rest of the night, horrified at the tale Isabela was telling. Anders claimed he’d cracked a rib or two trying not to laugh too much.

Varric took lots of notes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Dragon Age 2 is my cure for all ailments. After at least five runs it still offers some surprise - such as that banter between Carver and Isabela.  
> I can't say I ship them, but they're adorable, and I liked the idea of them spending some quality time together, no strings attached.  
> And boi it was fun to write!


End file.
